


azaleas & campfire sparks

by sunshineandthunderstorms (Chill_with_Penguins)



Series: a bouquet of weeds [1]
Category: Original Work, Poetry - Fandom
Genre: (there shouldn't be much tho this is mostly my boring life), Multi, each work in this series is part of the same "book of poems", hence the few tags, just a collection of my own original poems, just with a different theme, tags to be added as anything triggering pops up, this will be slowly added to over time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:48:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27798745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chill_with_Penguins/pseuds/sunshineandthunderstorms
Summary: a place for the soft, the happy, and the hopeful
Series: a bouquet of weeds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033836





	azaleas & campfire sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Written sometime in the fall of 2019 for Zephyr and all the other superheroes I grew up with

when we were kids we used to sit in sun-dappled ivy,

staining khakis with flecks of gray-brown mud and lips

with laughter. you would peel back the tupperware lid,

herculean strength in the grunt 

that slithered out of your lungs,

and pull out a mango, perfectly sliced.

the boys threw dodgeballs at us and every day

you defended me, a tea kettle scream of justice,

when my sandwich hit the ground.

these days, we sprawl in saturated sunlight that sits,

sluggish and burning, against my skin. the leather seats

become little more than oil pools, magma

if you stay long enough.

we always do.

when it's time to shuffle out you'll brace yourself against the cold

but still shudder from the shock of it. we'll meander across cobblestone

gabbing like old women, like middle schoolers, like

it hasn't been a year since we last met.

like it won't be a year before i see you again.

like for one glistening, suspended moment,

there is nothing else, just us, teetering on the edge 

so much like spinning tops that careen and collide,

playthings half-violent in their dance.

when it's morning i'll rub pocketfuls of lint out

from between my eyelids and laugh

when you tease me. you always ask how we function

without sleep, and i always look at you and smile.

when you're here, i stay up until the digital clock is nothing more

than a blurry leftover from harsh fluorescents, until

i can glance over and see your sleeping face,

awash in blue light,

and send out silent thank-yous, until i can 

exhale once more.


End file.
